G Is for Games

by Alison Tyler

And he did, I could tell. I gazed into his striking dark brown eyes and felt the heat of arousal stirring in me. He joined me at the fence, and we turned back toward the field as darkness fell.

  We exchanged numbers, but as it turned out neither of us had a chance to call before we ran into each other the next day in the exact same place. I didn’t usually find myself at the park so early in the afternoon, but I had decided to watch the coed community youth baseball league game, and as I strolled up to the field, I caught sight of him, arms crossed as he leaned against the fence behind the benches of one of the teams. Surprised by the coincidence, I started toward him. Before I reached him, he turned his head. Immediately I noticed the red B on his hat and I stopped.

  He was a Red Sox fan.

  I narrowed my eyes at him with half-serious malevolence. He hadn’t seen me yet. At that moment, he turned my way, and his face lit up when his eyes met mine. Then they dropped slightly to my jacket.

  I was wearing my Yankees pullover, and his expression immediately shifted to one of surprise—and then to a challenging gaze similar to mine. We were both aware, I was sure, that our respective teams would be facing off that very night with the first of a three-game series against each other in New York. Still standing a good twenty yards away from him, I lifted my head and looked him up and down. Then I stared hard at him, holding back a smile. Even as I felt the heat rising in me, I tossed my head and turned on my heel. I felt him watching my ass as I walked haughtily back in the direction from which I had come.

  A Red Sox fan. Unbelievable.

  My team had better win tonight, I told myself.

  The phone rang as I was pulling the half-gallon container of chocolate-chip-cookie-dough ice cream from the freezer.

  “Gearing up to watch your team get its ass kicked, I imagine,” Corey said.

  A shot of arousal coursed through me. I frowned slightly and tried to quash it. Now was not the time to get friendly with a Red Sox fan. Still, I smiled as I said, “Actually, I’m getting ready to watch my Yankees pound their perpetually inferior rivals. Is there something I can do for you?”

  “I was thinking maybe we could watch the game together.”

  “It’s not going to bother you to have a gloating Yankee diehard rubbing your loss in your face for nine innings?”

  “As long as you’re okay with the other way around when the inevitable happens,” he countered.

  Rising irresistibly to his challenge, I said immediately, “You’re on.”

  The bell rang just as the national anthem was coming to a close. I marched to the door and opened it to find him standing on the threshold, cap on his head and a cocky, challenging expression on his face.

  With a similar expression on my face, I stepped back to let him in. He smiled and stepped closer, kissing me without pretense. Forgetting everything but my horniness for a moment, I kissed him back as his hand snaked around my waist and down to my ass.

  Breathless, we broke apart and laughed. “So,” I said. “You’re a Sox fan.” “All my life,” he grinned and moved past me as I shut the door.

  I gestured toward the couch and followed him to it. “Can I get you anything?”

  His eyes flicked quickly up and down me. “No, thanks,” he answered as he settled on the couch. I sat down beside him. He turned to me. “I’ve never had sex with a Yankee fan before,” he remarked.

  I raised my eyebrows at him. “Should I take that as an indication that you believe we’re going to have sex?”

  He laughed. “Something about the look you managed to give me even in your disgust made me think it was on your mind.”

  I smirked. “Aren’t you perceptive? I was planning to fuck you from the second I met you. I just didn’t plan on your being one of ‘them.’” Turning to the TV screen, I took in the scene of the stadium where I’d seen the same match-up in person many times. Instantly, I felt the familiar energy of my disdain for the opposing team. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the same tension enveloping Corey.

  He turned to me again. “Interested in making a little bet on this game?”

  “What kind of bet?”

  He leaned in a little closer. “Winner gets to have his—or her—way with the loser, so to speak.”

  I looked at him. “Excuse me?”

  “Winner gets to dominate,” he explained.

  I blinked. After an instant of surprise, I smiled as I realized immediately what a twist that would present for me. I wondered briefly if any of the same conflict was stirring in him as I glanced down at his hand, extended toward me to shake on the deal. After a moment I slipped mine into it. We grasped firmly, our gazes hardened.

  Born and raised in New York, I come from a family of unswerving, die-hard Yankee fans; I’d lived and breathed the Yankees ever since I was old enough to know what they were. It went without saying that I wanted my team to win. Always. And especially when they were playing the Red Sox.

  But I also love to be dominated.

  Two nights later, I carried the bottle of red wine to the coffee table and set the glasses on coasters. A knock on the door came as I headed back to the kitchen. I stopped to open it, and Corey entered with a grin, kissing me as he shut the door behind him. I returned his smile and flipped off the kitchen light as we went by.

  As we made our way to the sofa, both of us affected a casual countenance, pretending to ignore the fact that this was the night of nights for our little game. I had to admit that it was throwing my lifelong team loyalty into turmoil, subverting it for the first time in my life—this simple desire to be thrown/pushed/held/tied down and fucked hard, no less.

  Tonight was the third and final game of this Yankees/Red Sox series. I had been relegated—by my own agreement in shaking on the bet—to being Corey’s sex slave for the hour after the first game ended two nights before, and even now I grew wet as I recalled his pushing me to my knees and grabbing the back of my head as he shoved his cock down my throat. Last night had brought a switch in my favor (as far as baseball was concerned, anyway). My boys had pummeled the Red Sox 9 to 1, and Corey had been forced to sit back to receive some of his own. While he dominated beautifully, I had no question that he got off on submission, too. I’d seen his cock grow hard as I shoved him facedown over the back of the couch and smacked his ass until it was bright red, holding his face against the cushions by the back of his neck.

  “Here you go,” Corey said as he finished pouring and handed me my wineglass, snapping me back to the present. I took a deep breath, still wet from my thoughts. In my head, I knew I wanted the Yankees to win tonight—as always. An uncontrollable intensity in my body, however, pulled insistently with the desire to be dominated—held down and fucked hard in utter submission.

  I tried to sit still on the couch, but the unpredictable nature of our little game was becoming almost unbearably frustrating to me. I just wanted to fuck. Corey sat down beside me, and I knew I wasn’t going to last the whole game. The Red Sox were up; as their batter slid safely into second, Corey turned to me with that gleam in his eye and grabbed my hair, pulling me in for a hard kiss.

  “Are you trying to suggest we go play by play tonight?” I asked a little breathlessly as he broke the kiss.

  “Maybe inning by inning.” He grinned.

  I couldn’t remember another game when I’d looked forward to the commercial breaks.

  “Walk this way,” Corey said as he grabbed his keys and headed toward the door.

  “Where are we going?” I couldn’t resist asking, surprised. The Red Sox victory was his cue to lead me to whichever room he chose and do what he would with me. The thought made me shiver even as I cast one last glare at the final score before pressing the POWER button on the remote.

  Apparently, he wasn’t choosing a room this time. “That’s for me to know,” he said as we headed outside. He opened his passenger door for me, and we drove in silence. A slow smile spread across my face in the dark as he pulled up along the curb by the park where we’d met. He avoid
ed the lot so as not to arouse suspicion, since the park was closed after dark. Having been in this park at night many times, I was aware that the cops usually came and did an obligatory drive-through about one a.m. and only checked it that once. I certainly hoped tonight wouldn’t be an exception.

  I followed him through the darkness, our feet rustling the lush grass. That was the only sound; it was so quiet I could hear my breathing. As we approached the chain-link fence where we’d met, he cut around past the dugout bench and walked onto the field. He led me by home plate and stopped at the fence directly behind it.

  Dropping on the ground a small bag I had seen him grab from his backseat, he reached for my waist and pulled me into position in front of the fence. Crushing me against it, he kissed me hard before backing up slightly and pushing me onto my knees by my shoulders.

  “Don’t move,” he ordered as he reached for the bag. He pulled a rope of some sort out of it and moved behind me. I felt my wrists being grabbed and tied together behind my back.

  Moving in front of me once more, he freed his cock with one hand and grabbed a fistful of my hair with the other. The smell of the freshly mown field wafted around us, and I breathed it in heavily as I looked up at him, stars slathered across the black background above him. He ran a finger along my jawline, slowly, gently, as I shifted from knee to knee on the sandy gravel. It dug into my skin, but my arousal was too overt for me to care. I was wet and fidgety as he held my head away from him, my mouth almost watering for the taste of his cock.

  He slipped his finger lightly into my mouth, still holding my hair solidly to keep me from diving forward onto his cock like I wanted to. I looked up at him again, and when I met his eyes, I knew suddenly that he understood exactly what effect this was having on me. He pulled his hand back away from me and positioned it on his cock. Slowly, he stroked himself, holding my head back and not letting me move. I had never wanted a cock in my mouth so badly. Finally, Corey reached under my chin and turned my face roughly upward, making me meet his eyes.

  “You ready to suck this cock?”

  “Yes, please,” I said. He looked at me for another moment before grabbing another fistful of my hair with his free hand and shoving my face forward, pushing his cock deep into my throat. I almost gagged, but I had anticipated enough that I had time to breathe correctly. It was fortunate that I knew a thing or two about giving head—even by pseudo force.

  He held my head in position for a few seconds before letting off and then pushing it rhythmically. The gravel was still biting into my knees, the ropes binding my wrists chafing slightly as I shifted my hands. Corey’s hard length penetrated my lips repeatedly, banging against the back of my throat as my pussy got wetter by the second. Finally, he yanked my hair back and pulled my head off his cock. I looked up at him, his eyes like solid dark chocolate as he lifted me to my feet.

  Reaching behind me, he untied the rope holding my wrists and pushed me back up against the fence before reaching for the bag again. He pulled out two more ropes, identical to the first.

  “Spread your legs.”

  I did so, and he proceeded to tie each of my ankles to the fence. When he was done, he stood and attended to my wrists, lifting them over my head and binding them to the chainlink as well. When he stepped back, I was firmly bound, standing, by all four limbs to the fence behind home plate.

  Corey hitched my denim skirt up to my waist. I had nothing on underneath, and I was sure he could see how wet I was just by looking, and he did seem pleased when he stared between my legs.

  “You like what I’m doing to you, baby?” he taunted, brushing his fingers between my legs. I gasped and couldn’t keep from crying out just a little. Immediately I bit my lip and gave him a look of apology.

  “I didn’t think I’d have to tell you to be quiet here, Paige. Are you going to be a good girl, or do you need a gag?”

  I shook my head. “No. I’ll be good.”

  “You’d better.”

  Corey leaned in and ran his tongue across my lips, pulling back slightly whenever I tried to meet his mouth and kiss him. I squirmed in frustration.

  Abruptly I felt his finger enter me; I hadn’t known it was anywhere near me. I shrieked quietly, wincing as I realized I’d just broken the rules.

  “Mmm-hmm,” Corey said shortly, backing off and returning to the bag. “I see you’re having some trouble following the rules tonight.” He wasn’t smiling as he pulled a ball gag from the bag.

  “I didn’t mean to. I won’t do it again,” I pleaded as he advanced toward me with the gag. I submitted sorrowfully as he installed it in my mouth.

  Quickly, he pulled open the snaps on my shirt, then popped the front clasp on my bra. The warm night breeze graced my breasts while he watched my nipples get hard. I shivered. Then he grabbed them roughly, pushing his body up against mine and kissing me. My pussy went into overdrive and begged for release as he squeezed my tits in his fists.

  He pulled back and fumbled with his cock, putting on a condom. I breathed heavily, my tits exposed to the night, my skirt at my waist, my wrists bound above me and ropes around my ankles holding my legs spread wide. Corey advanced back toward me and reached up to grasp my throat solidly, pushing my head back against the hard, chain-link fence. I felt the wetness between my legs start to drip.

  With a grunt, he pushed into me, still gripping his choke hold on me, his other hand now laced through the chain-link fence near my head. He pumped me hard, eventually grasping my hips with both hands for better traction as I moaned as much as I could through the gag. It was good that it was there, it occurred to me, so my screams weren’t heard by the quiet neighborhood households nearby.

  When he finished, Corey pulled out and looked me up and down. He stood back, removing the condom and zipping up his jeans. Moving forward, he reached to remove the gag from my mouth.

  “I want to hear you call my name in my ear when you come,” he stated. “But not too loud—we don’t want to wake up any of the nice suburban neighbors.” With that, he reached for my clit and gently ran his finger across it.

  Urgency took my breath away. I pulled at the restraints on my wrists, desperately wanting to touch myself along with him. He noticed and smiled.

  “Sorry, doll, this is my game now, remember? You lost tonight. Your hands will stay where I put them until I say so.”

  His voice and his words, taunting me, made me squirm under his ever rougher touch, needing release. It was building, and there was nothing left for me to do but give in, relinquish all control inside myself; outside I already had none.

  “Come for me—now. Now, Paige.” Corey’s voice got rough, and I screamed full force as my body exploded, Corey’s hand moving immediately to cover my mouth and muffle the sound. The restraints holding my limbs suddenly served to protect me from gravity as every nerve in my body let go and flowed instantaneously with the orgasm that consumed it. Behind me, the fence jangled and swished, the reverberation rippling to the top of the chain-link fence twenty feet up like an extension of the orgasmic waves ripping through my body. When it was over, I hung limply, trying to catch my breath and emitting tiny breathless sobs forced out of me by pure intensity.

  Corey smiled and moved in to kiss me, softly this time, as he reached up to untie my wrists. When that was done, he attended carefully to my ankles, dropping the restraints one by one back into the little bag he’d brought with him. Then he pulled me gently to him, his arms around my waist.

  Still a little out of breath, I set my head against his shoulder for a moment and took a deep breath. Then I let go and stepped back, returning his smile as he retrieved the bag from the ground. A breathless little laugh escaped me as I turned toward the street.

  We walked without speaking back through the grass to his car, Corey placing his hand lightly on the small of my back as we crossed up a hill, as if we were a couple walking together to the valet after dinner in a lovely restaurant instead of two people who barely knew each other who had just engaged in
bondage sex in a park after hours.

  Back at my house, he left his bag in the car as we entered through the front door. I retrieved my own carefully packed bag that I had set out in anticipation and returned it to the closet. Corey noticed.

  “And what’s that?” he asked, seeming genuinely surprised.

  “You think you’re the only one who knows the art of preparation?” I asked him. Closing the closet door, I pictured the brand-new strap-on dildo tucked away in the bottom of my bag and reminded him, “Don’t forget, Corey dear, we’ve still got half a season left. You may have gotten lucky tonight—but I think we both know who’s going to come out on top.”

  EMILY DUBBERLEY

  PLAYING FOR KEEPS

  GREG’S SITTING AT A TABLE in the bar when I walk in. I’ve been waiting for this moment for what feels like forever. He’s coolly sipping his pint, but his eyes have the same evil glint as mine do. Of course, we’re meeting as friends. But we both know that we’ll be leaving as lovers. We just haven’t told each other yet.

  “Evening,” he says.

  “Evening. That mine?” I gesture at the second pint on the table.

  “Well, I’m not meeting anyone else.”

  “Makes a change,” I say, teasing.

  He smiles. We have an ongoing joke that he’s a slut.

  He is.

  But so am I.

  I sit, feeling my suspenders dig into me, my silk knickers getting damp. Stockings aren’t my usual choice, so I still notice when I wear them, but I like the way my lingerie looks—and feels—on me. I’m in control when I get dressed up. The entire seduction process arouses me, from start to finish. I’ve been wet since I started getting ready for him, planning what I was going to do, choosing the silk lingerie, the ideal subtle outfit to hide it. After all, I don’t want to accidentally flash my stocking tops. I don’t want him to see what he’s getting until I’m good and ready. I don’t want him to be sure. Not yet. He’ll realize eventually, when he sees what I’m wearing underneath my clothes. But he’s going to have to work for that.